


Fearless Was My Middle Name (But Somewhere There I Lost My Way)

by Swordy



Series: You've Done All the Things... [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Broken Bones, Broken Dean, Caring Sam, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Permanent Injury, Post-Purgatory, Psychological Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 12:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7361878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordy/pseuds/Swordy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He feels tired and beaten down, like one more disaster will propel him into a tailspin that he can't pull up from. How does he say, <i>I wish I was sick again, because you were better</i>, even though he knows Dean's 'better' was unsustainable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fearless Was My Middle Name (But Somewhere There I Lost My Way)

**Author's Note:**

> Third sequel to ['You've Done All the Things That Could Kill You Somehow'](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4622622/chapters/10537866). Follows on directly from [Just Because I'm Losing, Doesn't Mean I'm Lost](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6286951). Thank you once again to thruterryseyes for the beta and the cover art. This series is so much better for all your input!

As mortifying as being floored by strep throat is, Sam reluctantly has to accept that he needs to rest and recuperate. He sleeps a lot even though he’s still anxious about leaving Dean alone, but as the days go by he starts to feel better – _stronger_ \- and Dean, well, it’s fair to say that Dean has completely stepped up to the plate.

He’s still quiet, but there have been no wandering episodes or conversations that have thrown his mental fragility into sharp focus, and Sam has thanked God for every single minute that things have stayed this way.

The antibiotics have the desired effect, and eventually he feels well enough to get up. As he starts to feel better, he’s caught between worry and hope about what his recovery will do to Dean. So far Dean has been capable and, most importantly, _present_ , but there’s a tightness around his brother's eyes that speak of the internal battles needed to maintain this state. That’s what scares Sam the most. 

He knows the dam's gonna break at some point, it's just a matter of when and how spectacularly. Turns out, it doesn't bust open like in the movies, but the cracks do start to appear and the water begins to trickle through, so the end result will ultimately be the same. Sam helplessly witnesses his brother's slow deterioration and can't do a single thing to stop it. More and more of his conversational turns go unanswered and he starts to catch Dean muttering and frowning into the middle distance again as his brother engages with something or someone that exists only in his mind.

Dean declines to come with when he decides they need to restock some essentials, and he almost doesn't go himself, but they're low on things he can pick up at the village shop and he can be there and back in twenty minutes, tops. When he returns, Dean's upstairs in his room and he almost breathes a sigh of relief that everything's just as he left it until he realizes that Dean has gathered up pretty much the entire contents of the refrigerator while he's been gone and has pushed it under the bed. Sam doesn't ask for an explanation this time; he just sighs and takes it back downstairs when Dean has turned his attention elsewhere.

The rest of the day passes without incident, even though Dean barely eats and talks even less. They head up to bed just before midnight. Sam watches his brother go into his bedroom and close the door behind him, then he goes to his own room and falls into an uneasy, dreamless sleep.

OoOoO

In the morning, the rain is lashing against the windows making a mockery of the fact that it's supposed to be summer. Sam lies in bed listening to it for a few minutes before turning his attention inwards. Even though he hasn't had a brilliant night's sleep, he acknowledges how much better he feels than he did last week. The excruciating pain when he swallows has gone and his body no longer feels like it's been trampled by a herd of elephants. Despite that, he'd take it all back in a heartbeat to hold onto the Dean of the last week, just for a bit longer, because alongside the constant worry that Dean will do something dangerous to either himself or an innocent person, he realizes that he _misses_ Dean. He misses their conversations, their stupid arguments, even the quiet moments spent in companionable silence together. He misses everything, good and bad, that made Dean, _Dean_ , because his big brother has always been his North; a strong reliable guide, his heart and his home.

He tells himself that it's okay to grieve this loss, but it's not, not really. To grieve implies that it's gone forever and the stubborn part of him that infuriated their dad and cast Dean into the role of peacemaker so many times, refuses to accept that _his_ Dean is never coming back. He tries to imagine a life where it doesn't get any better than this - _hypothetically speaking_ \- but he shuts down the thought just as quickly. It's like opening a door, behind which lurks some unspeakable horror; even if you only peek, just for a second, you can never un-see what you saw inside. 

Instead, he decides to get up.

Dean is already downstairs when he goes into the kitchen, but unlike last week, he's not made coffee or started breakfast. He's sitting at the kitchen table wearing the clothes he was in yesterday and his face is every inch the man who hasn't slept a wink. Sam's pretty sure Dean didn't sleep the previous night either, all of which is contributing to his brother's deathly grey pallor. Given his brother's clothing choices it’s hard to tell for definite, but just looking at Dean's face it seems as if he's lost some weight. In short, Sam knows he's seen healthier looking ghosts.

"Hey," he says, wondering if Dean's even noticed he's here. "You okay?"

Exhausted eyes rise to meet his. Dean nods and says something that might be 'yeah' although it's closer to a vocalization than an actual word.

"I'll make us some coffee," Sam responds, giving Dean's shoulder a supportive pat as he passes. He tries to tell himself he didn't feel Dean flinch at the contact. The silence remains unbroken for a few minutes. 

"So, do you wanna do anything today?" Sam asks as he placed a mug in front of his brother. No response.

"Did you sleep? I didn't sleep too great last night."

This time Dean nods, although it's more to himself. "Fucking werewolves howling," he says flatly. "Never can sleep when they get started."

Sam forces himself not to stare, instead he sips his coffee like Dean has just commented on the weather or something in the news. 

"I figured I might just hang out here, maybe carry on with some of the jobs or just play video games? You up for that?"

"Whatever you want, Sammy," Dean replies listlessly, making no move to drink his coffee. Sam wants to say something else, but decides to hold off because this is going nowhere fast. Heart sinking, he knows what he's seeing is definitely the result of Dean holding it together for a week when it was clearly a Herculean task. Now Sam's well again, he knows he needs to watch Dean like a hawk and hopefully stop his brother from regressing too far.

Throughout the day he tries to encourage Dean to go and rest, but is repeatedly met with the same stubborn opposition. The rain stops mid-afternoon leaving heavy, humid skies. Bored with the Playstation, which Dean has declined to join him in, Sam takes the opportunity to go to the outbuilding where he's stored all the decorating equipment. He's sorting through it, trying to decide if he can talk Dean into helping with painting, or maybe they can start on the woodwork in the dining room, when the first rumble of thunder sounds overhead. It doesn't really register at first, but when there’s a second crash, closer this time, he wonders if he should go and check on his brother. 

He enters the house through the kitchen. When he told Dean he was going outside, his brother was sitting in the living room staring at nothing. He heads there now, but Dean's nowhere to be seen. He tells himself that it's okay; Dean won't have gone far, but his strides lengthen as he moves from room to room.

"Dean!"

He clears the ground floor and takes the stairs two at a time. Dean's not in the bathroom or either of their bedrooms, leaving only the tiny box room where there's a jumble of crap left by previous tenants. He opens the door thinking Dean can't possibly be in here, and on first glance he almost misses him. Just as he's about to close the door, his mind registers the pair of feet poking from between two of the taller boxes in here. His heart does a funny little stutter as he realizes that he's basically looking at the scene that greeted him when he first arrived at the hospital all those weeks ago.

"Dean," he says gently. The thunder rumbles again, burying any response from his brother, not that he thinks there is one. He lifts an old ironing board out of the way and moves into the room so that he can actually see Dean. Just like last time, Dean is hugging his legs with his one good hand, the other held tightly to his chest. His eyes are closed, but Sam doubts he's actually asleep. He approaches slowly, deliberately making enough noise not to startle his brother, and tries again.

"Dean?"

There's a slight movement, confirming that Dean hasn't gone to sleep, even though he undoubtedly could do with the rest. He still doesn't open his eyes. As Sam edges closer, he realizes that Dean is muttering something under his breath. It takes a few repetitions before he works out what it is.

_Please, Sammy, please. You gotta get me out._

He wants to make Dean stop, but previous experience tells him it's difficult to get through to his brother when he's like this. Instead, he carefully moves the boxes on one side to give himself room to sit down beside Dean. He's watching his brother's reaction carefully as he eases himself to the floor, because he definitely doesn't want to make things worse, but if anything Dean seems to accept the physical presence, actually leaning into him after a few tense minutes have passed.

Dean eventually stops whispering the mantra, which Sam finds a big relief. He's trying to decide if he should say something now when Dean starts to speak, still at a whisper and not really aimed at Sam.

"Had a weapon... worked real good. Beheaded a vamp, but there were more of 'em. They took it, smashed it. They're gonna kill me, no... they wanna have some fun instead." Dean stops suddenly as there's a flash of lightning, illuminating the surroundings that he’s not really seeing. Sam swallows hard. He has to strain to listen over the _thump thump_ of his heart when Dean starts again.

"One of them finds a boulder, so fuckin' big... almost can't lift it. They say, 'try killing vamps now'... take turns using it to smash my hand." Dean stops and swallows, his voice now hoarse. "The pain... hand's fuckin' useless now. Can't defend myself. _I’m_ useless. Why can't I just die?"

"Dean," Sam interjects because he can't listen any longer without saying something. "I'm so sorry I couldn't get you out sooner. I tried, man, but nothing worked." He swallows down the lump in his throat. "I know it took too long. I'm so sorry. But it worked in the end and you're _here_ and you're gonna get better because you're the strongest person I know. I've got faith in you, Dean, even if you haven't got it in yourself right now."

Dean doesn't say anything, so silence settles between them. When the thunder rings overhead it's quieter this time, like it's moving away. They stay like this, side by side on the floor with their shoulders pressed together until the storm passes completely. Sam realises that he's almost fallen asleep when Dean shifts beside him.

"You okay?" he asks Dean cautiously, never sure whether his brother will be in the here and now so soon after an episode.

"Yeah," Dean answers gruffly as he goes to get up. They're like a pair of old men, creaking and groaning as they move to standing. 

“Dean—”

“ _Sam_.”

The word carries a warning that Sam shouldn’t attempt to talk about what’s just happened. Dean leads as they head back downstairs so Sam follows him as he goes into the kitchen.

"You want something to eat?" he asks, hoping that's why Dean has chosen to come in here.

"Not hungry."

Sam sighs, then decides to just be honest. "I'm worried about you, Dean. I'm worried that you're not eating and not sleeping and you're gonna make yourself sick."

"Like you did, you mean?" Dean replies, cutting Sam a look before turning and leaving the room. He only goes into the living room though, meaning Sam doesn't feel the need to follow.

The sudden feistiness is a surprise, but hardly welcome. The last thing they need to be doing is arguing, so Sam ignores the barb and sets about preparing them a meal that hopefully Dean will make a small attempt at. 

He doesn't. 

He also doesn't sleep a wink either. Sam knows this because he checks on him several times - sometimes Dean looks over as he cracks the door open and he blames his own insomnia for being out of bed. Other times, he manages to look into Dean's room without disturbing him, but he knows from his brother's breathing that he's not asleep.

So the vicious cycle continues. The lack of sleep does nothing for Dean's mood and the frequency and strength of the hallucinations he was already having increases. He convinces Dean to come out in the car with him, just to get him out, but swiftly changes his mind about stopping anywhere when, as they pass some school children on the side of the road, Dean mutters, ' _fucking changelings_ ' and starts clenching and unclenching his one good fist like he's preparing for a fight.

His own broken sleep means that he's struggling to watch Dean as effectively, but that's only a very minor factor in the decision he makes the next evening when they're preparing to retire for the night. It's been a rough day and a couple of times, when Dean has left the room and then come back in, he's found himself gaping at his brother's physical deterioration and the speed at which it's happening. _You need to rest_ , he's repeated with increasing desperation, but neither begging nor willing Dean to sleep is going to make it happen.

Then he remembers that there's another option.

_Just the once_ , he tells himself. _Just so Dean can actually get a good night's rest._

He manages to get the sleeping pill in Dean's drink, but his brother refuses his attempts to get him to head up to bed before the medication kicks in. The result is Dean passing out on the couch. He debates with himself for a moment, but Dean’s completely out for the count, so with a mental apology because his brother would _kill him_ if he could see what he was about to do, he hefts Dean into his arms and carries him up the stairs to his bed.

Just like last time he feels ridiculously guilty, even though it’s undoubtedly beneficial to his brother’s health. He watches Dean, the deep in and out breathing of _proper_ sleep and he allows himself to feel a modicum of relief. It’s tempered by the fact that he needs a better solution, because he’s medicating his brother without his knowledge and it’s already sitting like a stone in his gut. 

When he thinks back to a week ago he realizes that Dean was sleeping better, from what he can remember between his own drifting in and out of consciousness. He knows that was Dean yet again shoving aside his own issues to take care of him, but there was something else… 

It hits him so suddenly that he wonders why it’s never occurred to him before. All their lives they’ve lived in each other’s pockets; two planets existing in their own private galaxy, orbiting each other, only occasionally straying off course until the gravitational pull of the other corrects the wanderer’s path. Even as adults, they've always shared their living space - flea bag motels, abandoned properties, always sleeping within close proximity of each other, irrespective of their lodgings.

Lack of space always seemed like the obvious explanation, hence their taking separate rooms here, but maybe it's _not_ what they're meant for. Maybe their lives are so entwined it _can't_ be any other way. As a teenager he would have railed against that; after all, most siblings - even _close_ ones - have lives that move in different directions eventually, but now it doesn't bother him at all. He knows Dean would be more dismissive, even though his actions and comments over the years indicate that his feelings are completely the same on the matter. 

So then he starts to think practically. Either of their rooms are just about big enough to accommodate two beds so tomorrow they're going to make the necessary changes. The biggest challenge will be selling it to Dean, who will instantly see through any bullshit if Sam isn't careful.

The realisation that he's missed such an obvious solution for so long prompts him to make another decision - he's going to keep a journal to organise his scattered thoughts and hopefully prevent him from missing anything else. He'd kept one as a teenager, when he'd needed an outlet for the constant clashes with his father that wouldn't result in further punishment, and he'd found the act of writing in it cathartic.

Unsurprisingly, given their lifestyle he'd been unable to keep it hidden for long. Dean had scornfully rolled his eyes and insisted on calling him Anne Frank for the next few weeks, which Sam had pointed out wasn't exactly an insult. John's reaction had been more of a surprise - he'd simply told Sam to make sure that it didn't interfere with his studies.

He figures the benefits of starting one now are twofold: it will give him that same outlet during this difficult period and will hopefully help him start to see patterns in Dean's moods and behaviours that might prevent future recurrences. 

With a plan of attack he turns in for the night. He sleeps easier knowing Dean is resting too, even if the circumstances that bought his brother that rest don't exactly sit easy with him.

OoOoO

The following morning, he's been awake for almost two hours before Dean comes downstairs. His brother still looks terrible, but the slightly haunted look has lessened somewhat. He yawns deeply as he comes to sit next to Sam at the table.

"You okay?" Sam asks. He watches as Dean runs his hands over his hair and then down his face. His brother needs a shave. And a haircut. He knows he's probably in the same boat, making the suggestion seem somewhat hypocritical.

"Yeah," Dean answers eventually. "Got some sleep for once."

"Good. That's good." He figures Dean has given him an opening so he may as well use it. "I actually didn't sleep that well - not like I did the other week when I was sick, and I think I figured out why."

Dean raises an eyebrow, allowing Sam to continue.

"Just hear me out, okay?" he preempts. "I think it's our rooming arrangements."

"You don't like your room?" Dean replies, looking confused.

"No, what I mean is, I think it's the fact that we're not _sharing_. I dunno... It just feels weird."

He's ready for Dean's reaction - rolled eyes, snarky comment, _whatever_ , but Dean simply shrugs and says 'well, if you wanna rearrange stuff, be my guest.' Just like that. He can't be sure whether Dean's ready agreement is down to him wanting it as well, or if he's just not bothered either way, but he's going to chalk this one up as a win. 

He spends the day lugging furniture. Dean helps as best he can until eventually they've got both beds in the bigger bedroom, which was just Sam's up until today. It's something of a squeeze, but if it helps it'll damn well be worth it. 

OoOoO

The storm the previous day seems to have cleared the heavy humidity, leaving clear blue skies. Once they're done with the move, Sam announces he's going to sit outside for a while in the hope that the good weather will lift his spirits. He feels tired and beaten down, like one more disaster will propel him into a tailspin that he can't pull up from. How does he say, _I wish I was sick again, because you were better_ , even though he knows Dean's 'better' was unsustainable.

He's been sitting here for about five minutes when Dean joins him. The dark glasses mask his brother's eyes, but he appears relaxed as he joins Sam in one of the lawn chairs, his seat positioned in the shade of one of the apple trees. 

It's so quiet here. There's a tall hedgerow that borders their property and it's currently alive with the sounds of birdsong. Somewhere, several fields over, a tractor is working. 

Sam's attention is drawn to his brother. Dean's cradling his damaged arm, but he appears to be studying it too. After a few moments, Sam realises that Dean's trying to flex the fingers of that hand. The movements are slight despite the frown of concentration creasing his brother's brow.

"Is it painful?" he asks.

Dean flexes it one final time before resting it on the table. "It aches. It's only painful when I try to make it do anything."

"D'you think you'll ever want to get it operated on? You might be able to get _some_ movement back in it."

Dean shrugs. "Honestly? I dunno."

Inadvertently, Sam realises that he's shifted the conversation into different territory. He knows Dean wouldn't risk hunting with his hand the way it is, so essentially what's he's asking is _do you think you'll ever want to get it fixed so you can hunt again?_ If he mentally frames the question like that, Dean's response is definitely not what he would have expected.

It's easy to get lost in what it all could mean. Is Dean saying he realises that he's no choice but to retire? Is he saying he actually doesn't _want_ to hunt anymore?

"You told me how it happened," he says. "Last night."

Dean purses his lips, then looks thoughtful for a moment before he nods. He doesn't follow it up with a comment. His hand moves to his lap, like he's subconsciously trying to hide it. Sam looks away.

"I'm sorry." 

Sam's head snaps up at the sound of his brother's voice. He curses the dark glasses, but Dean's face is angled down so he knows his brother's not looking at him.

"Dean--"

"Sam. I know you're gonna say I've nothing to be sorry for, but it doesn't change the fact that I _am_ sorry." Dean's expression remains like stone, but he's an unhappy statue. "You didn't sign up for this - for me, like _this_. And I wanna tell you to go, to go back home and make a life for yourself doing whatever, because God knows you deserve it, but... but I can't, because I know I can't make it on my own - not yet anyway. And I hate putting that on you, Sammy, so you damn well better know that I'm sorry."

"Okay," Sam says evenly, "but let me ask you this: if the situation was reversed, are you telling me you'd have done anything differently? Like, you wouldn't have come to London once you'd got that call, or, or, you wouldn't have set up home here so I could recover?" He shakes his head, feeling his irritation rising even though the last thing he wants to do is turn this into a fight. "You're my brother, Dean. I love you and I'm _still_ going to be here even when you _can_ make it on your own. I'm here because I _want_ to be, so deal with it, okay?"

So much for not losing his temper. Suddenly the birdsong and the distant tractor seem too loud, too jarring. He's waiting for Dean's reaction, worried about what he's said even though he means every word. He's already running damage limitation in his head, trying to second guess what Dean will do now. Typically, the one response he _doesn't_ prepare for is the one that actually happens.

Dean laughs. 

It's not _Three Stooges_ laughter or even _I just pranked you_ laughter, but it's a sound of amusement that Sam knows he hasn't heard for a very long time and it's seriously fucking welcome. He'd intended to go for indignation, but in the end he winds up smiling too.

"Sorry," he replies, abashed. "I didn't mean to sound so pissed then."

"Now who's apologising when they don't need to."

Sam laughs, shaking his head. "Jerk."

For a moment he thinks Dean isn't going to respond, but when he does say "bitch", he can feel every ounce of his brother's affection in that single syllable. He recalls his denial to grieve for Dean and decides that he was right all along - _his_ Dean is in there somewhere, and he's never going to give up on getting him back, even if Dean himself isn't sure he can do it.

That night, they sleep side by side like they've always done and neither of them stirs until morning.

**End**


End file.
